by Gina Welborn
“However, should I be accosted in a dark alley,” she said, in hopes of complimenting a man the older widow favored, “he would be my first thought for a rescuer.”
“Interesting.” Mrs. Hollenbeck sipped her tea, the corners of her lips indenting. “You wouldn’t think of either Gunderson? You seem to be close with the twins.”
That gave Emilia pause. Would she have thought of them first? Truth be told, if she were ever in danger, she would think of—
She glanced to where Mac sat with her siblings.
She would think of him.
Unwilling to admit that to anyone, she gave Mrs. Hollenbeck a smug grin. “I consider myself wise enough to avoid dark alleys and thus the need for any rescuer.”
Mrs. Hollenbeck studied her thoughtfully. “And yet you married Finn, sight unseen.”
“Not because I needed rescuing,” Emilia rushed to say.
“Then why did you?”
“For my family.”
“I see.”
Emilia doubted it. She liked the esteemed widow and appreciated the repeated invitations to join the Ladies’ Aid Society. But Mrs. Hollenbeck, with her grand mansion and servants, could never understand the desperate need to escape a prison—a fitting description of tenement life in Chicago.
“Ma’am, I would give my life for my family to have a better one.”
Mrs. Hollenbeck slowly nodded. “I imagine that’s true. Yet I cannot help but wonder what makes your life less valuable than theirs.”
Emilia felt her lips part as she sought to make sense of Mrs. Hollenbeck’s words. Her life wasn’t less valuable. Or more valuable. She’d made necessary sacrifices to help her family, to lift their burdens, to deliver them into the promise land. Only that land had come with debts and hardship. Her day began at sunrise and ended long after sunset. In addition to working off Finn’s debts, she laundered clothes, mucked stalls, milked goats, culled chickens, and lied in her letters to Da about how wonderful life was in Helena. It wasn’t wonderful. It was toilsome. More toilsome than she’d ever expected.
All because someone had murdered her husband.
Was it too much to hope that God would give her a little less than He knew she could handle?
“I don’t know,” she muttered because she had no other answer. Her heart ached for something different. For something more. With Mac. Since their croquet match, she had begun to imagine what her future could be like with him. And yet he was sitting at one of the farthest tables away from where she sat. She groaned inwardly. She shouldn’t have taken Mr. Gunderson’s advice to flirt with Mac.
A couple approached the table, but Mrs. Hollenbeck waved them away.
The quartet played on.
Mrs. Hollenbeck sipped her tea.
She rested her teacup on its saucer, then leaned closer to Emilia. “Would you like a little advice from an old lady?”
Emilia nodded, for no other reason than to be polite.
“Be cautious because people aren’t always what they present themselves to be. But also be compassionate because people aren’t always what they present themselves to be. Finally, be wise enough to know the difference.” She laid her napkin on the table. “Pardon me, my dear,” she said, standing. “I need to play hostess and ensure the ballroom is ready for dancing.”
Emilia nodded again. “Of course.”
“And don’t forget your dance card.”
As Mrs. Hollenbeck walked away, Emilia looked at the ornate fan sitting to the right of her knife and spoon, a little wooden pencil tied to the end. Inside, each fold contained a list of the dances for the first half of the evening—polka, waltz, square, reel, contra, and quadrille—and a space for the dance card owner to record the name of her partner. Even though her first dance had already been requested, her list was blank. Being a widow gave her a perfectly good reason to beg off. No one needed to know she didn’t know how to dance.
She stared absently at her half-eaten cake and untouched tea.
Time passed, and the quartet changed tunes once. Twice. A third time.
The bride, groom, and bridal party left the dais and headed into the house, presumably to initiate the dancing. One by one, the tables emptied. Mac walked away, talking to Mr. Adams.
“Emme, you coming?” Luci called out.
Emilia looked to where her sister stood linked arm and arm with Melrose Truett in a dress as grand as Luci’s was plain. “Go on. I’ll be there in a moment. I’m not done eating.”
The two girls darted off.
Emilia picked up her fork and finished the cake. Slowly.
* * *
Mac scanned the ballroom again. No Emilia. What was he going to do about her?
Last Sunday, out at the Circle C, something shifted between them. She’d flirted with him, no question about it, and Mac’s urge to kiss her almost got the better of him. Only Roch and Luci’s presence saved him. Even without kissing her, it had been a magical day filled with laughter and ease.
But then he’d gone home.
To Finn’s file on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers. The same table Mac had watered with tears of grief not so long ago. The same file he’d spent hours reading because, as both sheriff and best friend, he owed it to Finn to solve his murder—and to not be distracted by his widow in front of the cabin where his blood still stained the floor.
Except the more Mac avoided being in the same part of town as Emilia, the more she invaded his thoughts, which made for a miserable week.
All morning, while shaving and dressing for the wedding, he’d debated with himself about what to do when he saw her again. If he was too friendly, people in town would talk. Well, talk more. Women were already giving him sly looks, and according to Deputy Alderson, men had placed bets in Doc Abernathy’s Book of Wagers on whether Emilia would end up marrying Isaak Gunderson or Mac.
One of these days, he was going to burn that stupid book. After the way it spoiled Nick Alderson’s last romance, the young deputy might help set the flame.
Mac checked the ballroom again. Emilia still hadn’t appeared. Should he go find her? Or wait. If he remained aloof with her, people would talk about that, too.
Land’s sake, he was a mess.
Waltz music filled the room, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Roy Bennett took the floor. Their love for each other radiated in their faces, in the way they held each other as they danced, how she lifted her hand to touch his beard, and when he bent to whisper something private in her ear.
Envy filled Mac’s chest. He yearned to have a woman look at him the way Luanne looked at Roy. To have someone trust him enough to put her future in his hands. To love and be loved in return.
In years past, he and Finn would stand together chatting until the dancing started, both of them congratulating themselves on escaping the parson’s noose. But Finn was gone. As much as it hurt, as much as it would go on hurting for a long time yet to come, it was time to move forward. What had Isaak said? As much as they all loved Finn, he wasn’t coming back for Emilia.
She walked through the door and looked his way. Their eyes met, and Mac pushed away from the wall. He didn’t need answers to every question. This was a wedding. People danced. And he wanted to dance with her.
He weaved through the ballroom intent on filling at least three slots on her dance card. A few other men headed her way, which was good. It was. If Emilia danced with several different men, Mac’s attentions to her would be somewhat shielded. Not that he wanted to keep Emilia guessing, but the feelings between them were too new, too private, to be gossip fodder.
She was facing away from him and speaking to Windsor Buchanan. As Mac approached, he overheard, “. . . as a widow, I believe I shall sit this one out.”
He stopped so fast, he almost tripped. Before he made a scene, he veered left and walked away.
Had she also spent the week wondering whether the mild flirtation between them betrayed Finn? What if she decided it did? If so, Mac wouldn’t make her uncomfortable by askin
g her to dance.
He continued making his way through the wedding crowd, pausing to chat or observe the guests. Yancey Palmer was being led out to dance by her brother, Geddes, to join the bridal couple for the remainder of the waltz. She kept glancing over to where Hale and Isaak stood chatting, a look of profound longing on her face. For the first time, Mac felt sorry for her. In her blind devotion to Hale, she’d already rebuffed Jakob Gunderson and, judging by the look on Joseph Hendry’s face, was going to lead another man down a miserable road—all for a man who didn’t return her affection. Why did loving someone have to be so complicated?
Mac headed over to Hale and Isaak. When he got close enough, he heard Isaak say, “. . . a real asset. I don’t know what I’d do without Mrs. Collins, to tell the truth.”
Hale dipped his head in acknowledgment of Mac, then said to Isaak, “Doc Abernathy sings her praises.”
“As have I in my letters to Father.” Isaak loosened his tie, then undid the top button of his shirt. “I just received a return letter from him, and he agreed we should offer Mrs. Collins a full-time position at the shop. With an increase in her salary, she could work for us and have extra to pay Finn’s debt at Cannon’s General Store.”
“Is she going to take it?” Mac slipped between Hale and Isaak so he could observe the whole room.
“I haven’t had a chance to speak to her about it yet.” Isaak gave Mac a questioning look. “Do you always have your back to the wall?”
“Sheriff,” was all Mac said by way of explanation.
Hale chuckled. “Don’t believe him. He was doing this long before he became sheriff. You should have seen him at the steak house the other night. We waited an extra half hour for a table in the corner so Mac could keep an eye on the whole room.”
Isaak shot a significant look in Emilia’s direction. “I can see why that would be important.”
Heat filled Mac’s cheeks. Time to change the subject. “It seems you’ve worked something of a miracle, Isaak.”
“If you’re talking about Yancey pestering me instead of Hale, I hate to disillusion you. She thinks it will make him jealous.”
Hale took out his pocket watch and wound the stem. “A pointless endeavor.”
“Says the mouse to the cat.” Isaak slapped Hale on the shoulder. “Please marry her and put the rest of us out of our misery.”
“I feel no inclination to lay down my life for my friends.” After a smirk in Mac’s direction, Hale fixed a stare on Isaak. “But you might want to take care that Yancey’s flirtations don’t scare off Mrs. Collins.”
“If you’re talking about the basket auction last Sunday, I was merely helping out a friend.” Isaak slanted a glance at Mac.
Hale slipped his pocket watch into his vest. “Fifty dollars says you are more than friends, and I’ve overheard a number of whispers connecting you and the lovely widow.”
Mac swept his gaze across the room, turning his head at a steady pace even though his eyes stayed on Emilia longer than anywhere else. She was standing against the wall on the opposite side of the room while Jakob and Roch took turns demanding her attention. Was she refusing to dance with her own brother? Either she was a stickler for social customs or her feelings for Finn forbade it.
Which felt like a kick in the gut.
Mac returned his focus to his friends to find Isaak grinning broadly.
“Until you see my name in the Daily Independent announcing my nuptials, I wouldn’t believe every rumor you hear.” Isaak pressed his thumb and index finger into the corners of his mouth, humor dancing in his green eyes. “Besides, if my heart was captured by anyone last Sunday, it was little Miss Luci, once she moved past her annoyance with me for winning the basket bid instead of Mac, of course. By the meal’s end, she decided I was—how did she put it?—‘just as beautiful as Jakob, though not as smiley.’ It may be the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid me.”
“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Hollenbeck called out, “the ladies await your attendance. Isaak, Yancey says you have claimed the next dance.”
“We’ll be right there, ma’am.” Hale bowed in the widow’s direction before returning his attention to Isaak. “Next dance, huh? Be careful or you’ll find your nuptials announced sooner than you think.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Mr. Lawyer, or I’ll tell Yancey how to bait your hook.” With that parting shot, Isaak left Hale and Mac to claim his dance partner.
Hale watched as Isaak took Yancey’s elbow and led her onto the floor. “They actually make quite a handsome couple, don’t you think?”
“Jealous?” Mac meant it as a joke, but Hale took him seriously.
“A little.”
“Really?”
At Mac’s astonished question, Hale turned his head to look at Mac. “Not of Isaak and Yancey, of course, but of love and marriage in general. Luanne and I would have been well suited, but . . .”
Mac remembered how Yancey had spoiled that romance.
“She”—he looked pointedly at Yancey—“has made it impossible for me to pursue any young lady in Helena. Perhaps I’ll take a page out of Finn’s book and send away for a mail-order bride. Yancey can’t scare off a woman she’s never met.”
Mac wasn’t sure about that.
“Enough about me. What’s going on between you and Mrs. Collins?”
“Nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.” Hale pushed his glasses into place with his index finger. “A whole lot of nothing, from what I’ve observed. You avoiding her while she’s avoiding you.”
Mac started toward the dance floor. “Trust me. There’s nothing going on.”
Unfortunately.
* * *
“Mrs. Collins, may I have this dance?”
Emilia stopped, fanning her face with her dance card, and looked up from where she sat to see Mr. Geddes Palmer standing in front of her, his blue eyes sparkling with merriment. “I—ah—” She moistened her lips. “Thank you, but as a widow, I believe I shall sit this one out,” she said, repeating what she’d told every other gentleman who’d invited her to dance. “The music is delightful, don’t you think?”
“It is.” He hesitated. No doubt trying to decide whether he ought to forgo politeness and point out that she wasn’t much of a widow really. He motioned to where Luci was lining up with Mac in the middle of the ballroom. “Their group could use one more pair.”
Emilia smiled. “It is quite agreeable to watch . . . and to listen to the caller shout out instructions to the dancers. Is this common practice out west?”
“For some dances,” he explained. “The waltz never needs—”
Miss Melrose Truett dashed over, her red-gold curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Excuse me, Mrs. Collins,” she said to Emilia. Then she grabbed Mr. Palmer’s arm. “Geddes, your mother says you must dance with me.”
He looked over to where his mother stood, waving him toward the dance floor. He turned back to Melrose. “Mrs. Collins was about to—”
“Please go on without me,” Emilia insisted. “Besides, your mother did request.”
Mr. Palmer had the good graces to look indecisive.
Melrose tugged on his arm. “The music is starting.”
He gave Emilia an apologetic shrug.
“Truly, Mr. Palmer, I don’t mind,” she persisted.
That convinced him.
He allowed Melrose to pull him to the floor. They lined up across from Mac and Luci, whose smile couldn’t get any broader, in a square set with Mr. Gunderson and Yancey Palmer and Mr. Adams and a pretty blond woman who, Emilia thought, taught one of the younger grades at Central School. Luci would know. She seemed to have befriended everyone in her school.
As the music increased in tempo, the caller bellowed instructions.
The ladies turned, their skirts a colorful swirl.
Did Mr. Adams look peeved at the flirtatious glances Miss Palmer was giving Mr. Gunderson? Emilia leaned slightly to the side for a better view. If anything, he looked bored. Mr. Gunderson shoo
k his head at something Miss Palmer said. Like the other three men in the square set, Mac had nimble feet. Luci stumbled, then laughed. Everyone else in their set laughed, too. No matter how many mistakes she made, she never looked frustrated or embarrassed.
Mac’s gaze shifted to where Emilia sat. As he waited his turn, he watched her, and she forced herself to breathe. Her heart squeezed harder and harder.
“Promenade left.”
He watched her.
“Swing your partner.”
He watched her.
Why? Did he feel sorry for her sitting off to the side like a wallflower? She’d been asked to dance numerous times. He had to have seen. He had to have heard her reason for refusal. She’d spoken with the bride and groom and their respective parents, and anyone else who’d wandered over to her settee beside an opened window. She didn’t mind sitting by herself and watching the dancing.
Except he noticed.
By the look on his face, he seemed annoyed. Because she wasn’t dancing? She wasn’t about to make a fool of herself in front of a hundred people, so if she had to rely on the plausible excuse of being a widow prohibiting her from dancing, she’d use the excuse without shame. Even if he asked her to dance, she would say no, contrary to what her heart desired. If she didn’t, people would wonder. If she didn’t, he would wonder. And if he wondered, would he realize she was infatuated with him? Not a lot. Just enough to have already made things awkward.
Not once since she arrived at the wedding reception had he seemed mildly interested in her. Until now.
So why now?
Mr. Gunderson smacked Mac’s arm and Mac joined the promenade, his gaze shifting to his partner.
Feeling strangely warm, Emilia took the moment to hurry out of the ballroom. She turned right, turned a corner, and passed the hat closet on her way to hide in the washroom. Which was—? She turned in a circle. None of the pictures on the wall were landscapes.
“Humph,” she muttered.
After checking four doors, she headed back toward the music escaping the ballroom. She turned a corner and there was Mac, leaning against the wall.
